Riding Lessons
by caballlah
Summary: Mason Verger bores Alana. His sister does not...


After the voluptuous vulgarity of Mason Verger, meeting his sister was like stepping into a meat locker from out of a hot summer day. Alana Bloom couldn't remember liking summer days. She didn't think she did, anymore, but then, it was still winter.

"Back for more?" Margot asked, her chilled remoteness giving Alana breathing room, allowing her to lean on her cane without feeling weak. No, _invalid_ was the word.

She had avoided Margot on the way in to her second meeting with the male Verger, and now she couldn't say that Margot hadn't let herself be avoided, wanting to ambush Alana after the unpleasant business of Mason had been concluded.

"Back, at least," Alana replied, looking Margot over. The jodhpurs and riding jacket, the boots, even the crop—same as the first time Alana had laid eyes on her. She enjoyed presenting herself that way. "Offer me a drink."

"My drinks are very expensive," Margot replied. "I'm already unsure my brother is getting his money's worth on you. Good money after bad is a poor way to run a business."

"It is when it's not your money. And not a business."

Margot nodded consideringly. "What is my brother if not a business? He's certainly not human."

"And I seem to have invested in him," Alana agreed.

"Or been employed at him."

"He doesn't pay well enough for that."

"Depends on the coin. There are certain minds—I hesitate to cast judgment on them—that thrive on the pay my brother offers." Margot smiled pleasantly. "Hurting people on someone else's behalf feels cleaner than doing it for yourself."

Alana concluded Margot's question. "Am I one of those people? I don't rightly know. I seem to recall not being, but—" She tapped her cane. "I've been known to be mistaken."

Margot nodded to the side. "Liquor cabinet is this way."

Alana followed her, cane rapping on the hardwood floors, kissing the Egyptian carpeting. She felt a certain rekindling in Margot, a resurgence almost nostalgia. It wasn't professional curiosity—that desire to heal that had bound her so tightly to Will ( _led her to Hannibal)._ It wasn't personal, either ( _not like it had been with Lecter)._ It was like ripping a bandage away to see what shape the scar had taken, peeling the scab off a wound to see if it would bleed.

"Such tempting offers in this house."

"I wasn't offering. I was bestowing. Some gifts can go very poorly for you if you refuse them."

Alana didn't refuse. She took her crystal tumbler full of brandy, sniffed it, swirled it, pretended to care how expensive it was, then drank.

It didn't go poorly for her. It went very smoothly. Things had seemed very smooth for her lately, even without the cane. She just had to let herself go. She didn't get in her own way anymore. Nothing got in her way.

"And now that you've bribed me," Alana said, toasting her new friend. "I find myself in a mood to be interrogated. It's the only interest people take in me anymore."

"What makes you think I'm interested in you?" Margot asked, pouring her own drink. Filling it right to the brim. "In any respect?"

"It's possible you're not. I'm sure a woman who cuts the profile you do—in business magazines and this regalia—" She indicated Margot's clothing with her ever-helpful cane. "Isn't short on pretty faces. No, I think you just enjoy interrogating people."

"Another thing cut between me and Mason, fifty-fifty. He likes hurting people. I like hearing what they have to say." Margot smiled idly. "Once they've been hurt."

"More honest?"

"More emotional."

They sat in twinned fireplace chairs, Margot waiting for Alana, moving in unison. Not respect. Mirroring. Basic attraction. So basic, she was telegraphing it to Alana. So basic, Alana refused to comment on it.

"My emotions don't make it to the surface with ease. Too heavy."

"I'd hate to find out how the magician does her tricks anyway. The smoke and mirrors are more interesting anyway."

"And the magician's assistant."

Margot nodded. Pointed in confirmation. Had to use her finger, poor dear. "The cane. Do you like it?"

"I don't dislike it. Which I think is as much as can be expected."

"It is something of a potent symbol. How it indicates wisdom, experience. That's hard for a woman to come by, in a man's eyes. Especially when a little lipstick and hair spray make you look like… all that." A leer like an ice cube running over Alana's body. Made it feel better when the warmth hit you.

"Blood on a wounded gazelle. I come off vulnerable. And tasty."

"How accurate. But you could be other things as well."

Alana planted her cane in the space between their two chairs, spinning its tip on the floor like she meant to kindle sparks for the fireplace they were facing. Even if it hadn't been cold and dead, though, it lacked for wood. "A cane standing for wisdom is outmoded. More often than not, age is synonymous with obsolescence. Youth and poor social skills are the stand-ins for intelligence now. Physical disability has no glamour."

Margot nodded at that. Exaggerated agreement. More Attraction 101. "I can't think of the last movie I saw where a cane wasn't a sword or a gun in disguise. Would you enjoy being thought of that way? A blade waiting in a sheath?"

"Guns and swords aren't much good against my enemy."

"Heights aren't much good against you."

"Good enough."

"You like the look the cane gives you. You like the discrepancy of being so beautiful and then being afforded the contrast of such a glaring flaw."

Alana leaned forward. "Crude and base like your brother, but the idea's still beneath you. It's primal. Subconscious."

Margot shrugged down into her chair, lips twisted into an eloquent pout. "Tell me. Or don't you love being interrogated?"

"I enjoy being understood. I'm not sure you can manage that."

"I'm so simple?"

"No. But I can't. And I've got the best view."

"Maybe you need some distance."

"Distance is not a problem. I see everything through a telescope. I hear you from the bottom of the ocean."

Margot paused. Then shrugged and downed her drink. "Learn to enjoy being a mystery, then. I've been known to, on occasion."

"Sounds lonely."

"People can't hurt you if they don't know where to hit."

"I'm not afraid of pain. Just a lack of pleasure." Alana smiled at Margot, a bit apologetically. "Nothing tends to feel as good as my anger. My nerves felt too much. They pull away from the surface."

"I think there are enough left to rectify your _lack._ A touch doesn't have to be deep to feel good."

Suddenly, shockingly, Alana pressed her cane into Margot's shoe. "Interrogate this: longer than it's wide. Cylindrical. _Hard."_

"A phallus? I have little use for those."

Alana moved her cane upward. To the soft flesh of Margot's calf. Check that—hard muscle underneath her pantleg. "A phallic symbol. I've seen you use _those_."

"I lack your zen for interrogation. Remind me of the answer you want to provoke?"

The cane trailed over Margot's knee. Hard bone. Nothing soft to hit upon. "Your horse. Strong muscle. Power synonymous with fast cars, big trucks. Manhood synonymous with extreme endowment. All between your legs, under your control. So long as you tame it. Discipline its disobedience."

"That's a lot to get from a girl liking ponies."

"You give a lot, wearing that outfit. Do you think I like being ridden, Margot?" Cane up her thigh. The inside. Soft, but no way to tell how warm.

"I think 'rode hard and put away wet' is a very vague expression. It can denote either incredible satisfaction or extreme exhaustion. Or both. Do you like _that, **Alana?**_ Riding can be harder on the horseman than on the animal. You're left sore. But you have to wash the animal off. If you want to ride it again."

The cane between her legs. Gentle pressure, but pressure nonetheless. Increasing. Alana could feel the heat on the handle. Warm all the way down… "If I put this in your mouth, I'd expect you to suck it clean. Clean enough to go in your cunt. You'd hold yourself open for me. And you'd tell me how good it feels."

"What if there's a weapon inside?"

"If I don't tell you, you can pretend there is."

Margot took off her gloves. They weren't the last thing. "Then we can both be dangerous."


End file.
